


Pampering the injured

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [191]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPGCitadel.





	Pampering the injured

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Sam Worthington/Ryan Kwanten storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).

Ryan pops the top on a cold bottle of Tecate Light. It's a compromise he's making with Sam -- not _real_ beer, but not 'near beer' either. And it tastes damn good. He pours it smoothly into a pint glass, then sets it on a waiting tray, and then carries the heavy tray out to the entertainment room, where Sam is vegging on the couch, his injured leg propped by pillows at a medically-approved angle. "Here you go, love," Ryan says, setting the tray on the coffee table. "Nachos, fresh pico de gallo and guacamole, creamy refried beans, and beer. It's the perfect chill-out with the remote control feast." He grabs his own pint and sits down next to his lover. "Are you okay right now? Do you need more pain pills? Do you need to get up and go piss?"

"No, I'm good, thanks," Sam says. "I don't want to get addicted to those things." Meaning the pain pills. "Looks good," he adds, nodding at the spread on the tray.

Ryan smiles, but there's still a touch of anxiety lingering on his face. He's desperate for things to be back to normal; if Sam actually eats with something of his usual appetite, Ryan figures that will be a really good sign. "So, what are we watching?" he asks, taking a sip of his beer.

"Walking Dead. You okay with that?" Sam asks. "We've also got Survivor and Amazing Race taped."

"Walking Dead, definitely. It's killing me that we missed the new episode last night." Ryan grins a little, picking up a tortilla chip loaded with melted cheese. "Although I guess I can understand why they wouldn't show that in a hospital."

That gets a chuckle before Sam leans his head against Ryan's shoulder. He's just so exhausted today. "I don't get how I can be this tired," he says, pushing the play button, "when I haven't fucking done anything."

"Because healing yourself is hard work. It uses up a lot of your body's resources," Ryan murmurs, brushing a lock of hair back from Sam's temple. God, it's so good to see Sam smile, and it just makes Ryan want to fucking jump him. Which is _so_ unfair, particularly considering that, most of the time when Ryan's horny, he tends to take the straightforward approach and simply climb into his lover's lap. It's probably the last thing Sam needs right now.

"Yeah?" Sam gives another soft laugh. "Does that explain last night?"

"What, you mean last night when you slept like the dead, right up until the point that you started talking in your sleep and telling me all about your clown fantasy?" Ryan asks, his tone light. Of course he knows what Sam is talking about. But he doesn't want his lover to think that he's been focusing on the incident, or anything.

That gets another smile but Sam still feels weird about the whole thing. "You know it wasn't you, yeah?"

"I know. I'm not into clowns." Ryan sighs softly and gives up the joke. He rubs his lips over Sam's throat, breathing in his familiar scent. "Are you saying that you still find me just as irresistible as ever?"

Sam nods. "Definitely," he murmurs, sliding his hand over Ryan's hip, tugging him still closer. He reaches for the remote and shuts off the tv. "Take your clothes off."

In an instant Ryan's eyes widen in surprise... and hope. "Really?" he asks, and could fucking kick himself for bugging Sam, but he's already slipping off the couch and stripping out of his clothing. Because Sam, just turned off _Walking Dead_ ; it's got to be a good sign.

"You are so fucking hot," Sam murmurs, smiling, his eyes roving over every inch of Ryan's body as it's exposed. He grins. "And you're all mine." It's not like they don't both know it but sometimes it's fun to say it out loud.

"Yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, standing nude before his lover and trying to keep his breathing under control when his excitement level just shot up to atmospheric levels.

"Knees, boy," Sam orders. "Here, on the couch," he says, nodding at the space beside him.

"Sir." Ryan carefully kneels on the cushion as indicated, but he's not quite certain. "Facing you? Or away?"

"Facing me," Sam says. "Just like this." Drinking in the sight of his boy. "Touch yourself for me. Start with your chest and work your way down."

_Oh fuck_. Tension floods Ryan's muscles in an instant. He lays his hands lightly on his chest, fingers resting on his collarbone, then slowly drags them down. He shuts his eyes and gently rubs his nipples, stiffening them into tight peaks before he tugs lightly on the rings.

Sam's cock starts to stir more as Ryan touches his nipples and the rings running through them, but Sam's still not convinced. Not after last night. "Good boy," he murmurs. "That's it."

Ryan swallows a whimper and keeps his eyes tightly shut. God, Sam's voice -- it caresses him like crushed velvet moving over his skin, heightening every sense. He draws in a shuddery breath and pinches his nipples, hard, his body jerking with a sudden sharp streak of lust.

Fuck yes. Sam's cock throbs outright this time, filling more, his confidence returning by degrees. "Harder..."

The whimper escapes this time, and Ryan digs his thumbnails into his nipples, leaving harsh crescent marks behind. Precome pearls up on the head of his prick and he squeezes the muscles of his ass tight, trying to keep hold of his excitement.

"That's it. C'mon, boy. I want to see you in tears by the end," Sam says, Ryan's pain guaranteeing his arousal.

"No, I..." Ryan catches himself instantly. _No???_ It's not what he meant, not at all. "Please, Sir," he whispers, and draws his right hand down his chest, closing his long fingers around his cock. He begins to stroke, and pinches himself hard, crying out with the shock of it.

No? Sam raises an eyebrow at that but with his boy's quick compliance, he lets it go in favour of rubbing his hand over the bulge in his shorts, his cock fully hard now, the ache of his leg something he's determined to ignore.

_Fuck!_ Being around Sam for a whole day and hardly touching him -- it's like dying of thirst in an oasis. Ryan is on the edge with lightning speed, desperately working to hold himself back. He eyes Sam's hand, wishing for his lover's touch, but he's determined to be good and take whatever his sir wants to give him... Whatever Sam is comfortable giving him. "Please!"

"Please what?" Sam says, watching Ryan so fucking closely. "You want to give me your mouth or you want to try and ride me - without hurting my leg?" It seems like forever since he last fucked his boy.

Ryan is desperate to have Sam in his ass. "My-- my mouth," he answers, because how the hell can he keep from hurting his lover? He's got self-discipline, sure, but not superhuman quantities of it. He slips to the floor and moves between Sam's thighs, looking up at his sir. "Please?"

Sam nods, a slight edge of fear returning that he won't be able to stay aroused. "Go ahead."

Reaching out, Ryan unzips Sam's jeans, gently tugging them down just a bit and being super-careful not to disturb the bandage. He sighs out a breath at the sight of Sam's cock, and rubs his cheek adoringly against the inside of his lover's thigh. "I love you," he whispers, turning his head to graze his lips over Sam's balls. "You are so fucking sexy. You turn me on so much, all the fucking time."

"All the time?" Sam grins. "Even like this? My leg all fucked up?"

Ryan snorts a laugh at the absurdity of the question. "Yeah of course, even like this. I mean, maybe if you shaved your head and grew a goatee, I might not... But you'd still have the same cock." He grins and inhales deeply. "I fucking love your cock." Licking out, he rubs his tongue in the slit.

"Mm. I fucking love your mouth," Sam murmurs, laying his head back against the couch, one hand sliding into Ryan's hair. "Love your ass too." He grins. "You're gonna be so fucking sore when I get feeling better."

"Yeah? Can't wait." Ryan grins and nibbles his way down to the root, gentle nips of teeth. He is just so fucking _relieved_ to feel Sam's cock hard and needy against his lips again; he was more freaked out by last night's little incident than he'd ever admit to Sam. Coming to rest against his absolute favourite spot, he licks again and again at the base of Sam's cock. Then he puts lips to hot flesh and sucks hard.

"Jesus fuck," Sam breathes, shifting, Ryan's mouth flipping something inside him, hard. "We should just put a tattoo of your lips there."

Ryan snickers. "X marks the spot?" he asks. Encouraged, he sucks again -- hard enough this time to leave a mark which makes his own cock rear up with need.

Sam hisses in another breath, cursing softly beneath it, but his cock jerks violently, something for which he's so fucking grateful he could almost cry. "Brat."

"Tease," Ryan whispers, shooting his sir a grin. But he backs off and circles the crown with the tip of his tongue. Then he slowly takes Sam in to the root, moaning softly as he begins to bob his head, sucking his lover deep every time.

"Me? How the fu--?" Sam groans again, anything he was going to say completely forgotten.

God, it's so good. Ryan barely catches himself before he rubs his hands restlessly over Sam's thighs, remembering his lover's injury only just in time. Instead he cups Sam's balls in his hand, gently tugging and rubbing at the sensitive spot just behind.

Sam groans and pushes deeper, his balls tightening in Ryan's grasp. He slides both hands into his lover's hair now, pulling lightly and then harder as he hurtles towards the edge, his whole body suddenly freezing as he shoots, pulse after pulse of hot thick white flooding Ryan's throat.

Ryan whimpers, choking for a moment before he recovers and swallows. He lingers longer than he needs to, savouring the flavour of his lover as he licks Sam clean with long languorous swipes of his tongue. When he finally sits back on his heels, his own cock is throbbing with need, but it's something he can ignore just now. It's probably not his place to look so damn smug. Right now, though? Ryan can't help it.

"You look like the cat who got the canary," Sam says, shaking his head, amused. "Although I'd guess the cat was in a better place than you," he adds, nudging Ryan's erection with his bare toes.

That refocuses Ryan's attention in an instant. "Please," he whispers, looking up at his lover. "Please, Sir?"

"Only if you give me more of a show," Sam says, sliding his foot between Ryan's thighs, toes teasing at his balls. "I want to see props," he adds with a grin, eyes sparkling.

"P-- props?" Ryan echoes, blanching. "Ahh... Yes, Sir," he whispers, swiftly getting to his feet. "I'll be right back." Taking the steps two at a time, he heads upstairs to the master bedroom.

Sam grins, watching him go, then leans his head back against the top of the couch again, the painkillers definitely starting to wear off. Fuck.

It's at times like this that Ryan really _really_ misses their custom playroom back home in L.A. They tend to travel light when it comes to toys... But he's back downstairs in under two minutes, only slowing his steps when he reaches his lover once more. He flushes hard as he kneels, because sometimes he's just not ready for an audience, even though he figures that he probably shouldn't really be thinking of his sir that way. Setting a few items on the floor, he arches his back, reaching behind himself to work a thick cherry-red plug into his ass. Even as large as it is, the thing goes in pretty easily; hope springs eternal, right? He's kept himself prepped all day, and prayed.

Sam groans at the way that huge fucking plug just disappears into his boy's ass, his cock throbbing even as it softens. "Good boy," he murmurs, nodding for Ryan to keep going.

Ryan clenches his muscles tight, sucking in a deep breath and focusing on holding the plug in place. When he's sure he's not going to slip, he slides his hands up his chest to his nipples. They're hard already - hell, between the piercings and being around Sam, his nipples are pretty much constantly hard - and he pinches them, hissing through his teeth at the lust that sparks through him. Then he swiftly attaches two alligator clips into place.

Fuck. Watching Ryan, like this, is better than any TV show ever made. And what it does to Sam? Christ. His cock's stuck at half-hard and fighting to fill again.

Shutting his eyes Ryan works to lose himself in the moment -- in his performance. It lights him on fire to know that Sam is watching him so avidly; even when he feels anxious that he's not putting on a sexy enough show, it feels incredible just to know that he's actually caught the attention of a man like his lover. He wraps his hand around his cock and strokes fast, lust surging through him. And once that first bead of precome wells up, Ryan tugs on his P.A. piercing... then swiftly attaches a weight to the ring.

There. That's it. In an instant, the air filled with Ryan's yelling, Sam's cock goes from half-hard to full-fucking-mast again. "Good boy," he says again, the words simple, but meaning so much. Conveying pride and pleasure and _mine_.

Ryan gasps for breath and claws for self-control, the vicious weight on his cock nearly dragging him over the edge in a mad instant. "Sir," he manages to whisper, his head swimming. "Please. I can't..."

"Can't what?" Sam asks, unable to resist pushing just that little bit harder.

"Your boy needs to come," Ryan chokes out, closing his hand painfully tight around his balls in an effort to ground himself. "Please, Sir. Please!"

Sam waits that extra beat before finally nodding. "Go ahead, boy. Come for me."

Ryan wasn't expecting that. Wasn't expecting to be permitted to reach his climax when he's not even attending to Sam yet. But conditioning overrules his addled mind and he shouts, one hand yanking on his nipple rings, the other letting the full weight drop from his piercing again... And it's all over. He's so breathless it nearly sounds like sobbing, huddled in on himself on the bare wood floor, shivering and mind-blown.

"Good boy," Sam praises, eyes locked on his lover. "Take the clamps off, leave the weight and the plug and get up here."

It takes a frozen moment but eventually Ryan manages to obey. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he actually cries out when he removes the clamps, blood rushing back into his nipples so fast it nearly burns. And then he carefully climbs to his feet and stands, still a touch shaky, in front of his sir.

"Here," Sam says, patting the couch beside him. "Head on my lap."

Confused - but too overwhelmed in this moment to ask for clarification - Ryan curls up on the sofa, moving cautiously so as not to dislodge the plug or scream bloody murder when the weight on his P.A. shifts. He lies back, resting his head on Sam's thigh and looking up at his lover.

Sam shifts a bit, making sure there's no weight on his stitches, but he slides a hand down Ryan's chest, fingers plucking harshly at his nipples as he goes.

Ryan shudders sharply in response. "Sir?" he asks softly, questions in his eyes despite the way Sam suddenly yanks his focus sideways.

"I'm just enjoying tormenting you," Sam tells him, fingers moving lower, teasing over Ryan's already softening cock, up and down the length, so very close to the tip, that piercing, that weight. He's already managed two erections, one orgasm, and so last night's fiasco is happily relegated to a fucking fluke.

Another shiver rocks through Ryan's body, deeper this time. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, and licks his lips. _More_ torment? Does Sam really think he can take more? He must, because surely if he didn't then he wouldn't push Ryan so... _Hell yeah, he'd push_ , Ryan realizes, and tries to swallow a desperate whimper.

"You want to beg me to stop?" Sam murmurs, sliding one finger through that ring and tugging lightly. Adding weight to the one already there.

Ryan grinds his teeth into his bottom lip. "No, Sir," he gasps, every muscle in his body tightening as he struggles against the onslaught of sensation when he's already in a post-orgasmic burnout. But _fuck_. "Not... not if you want me to take it for you."

"I do," Sam says, sliding his hand between Ryan's thighs, touching the base of the plug and rocking it into him as he picks up the remote. Starts their show again.

"Wha-- what?" Ryan's head snaps around and he stares in blind horror at the flat-screen, trying to figure out just what the hell they were watching, _in a previous fucking century_ , fuck. "Oh, god," he softly chokes out, and can't resist the way his reflexes shove him into grinding down onto the plug..

"Shh... spread your legs for me," Sam orders, eyes flickering between Ryan and the credits on screen as he pumps the plug into his boy's ass.

Ryan whimpers again, but he wouldn't dream of disobeying, not like this. Not now. "Sir," he whispers faintly, and gives himself up entirely. Arching a little against the sofa cushion, he brings his knees up and spreads his thighs, laying his most sensitive flesh bare to his lover.

With a ragged groan, Sam twists the plug free, gaze locked on Ryan's still-gaping hole. "Keep it open, boy," he orders. "Use both hands."

"Yes, Sir." Bringing his knees to his chest, Ryan reaches down and takes hold of his ass cheeks, struggling to keep a whine inside.

"When was the last time you put your fist in your ass?" Sam asks casually, reaching for a bottle of lube in the side table.

Ryan's whole body jerks with shock, and he struggles not to cry out. _Oh, god_. "I... I think it was..." He shivers, struggling to remember. And then he begins to warm with shame when he confesses, "I don't know, Sir. At least six months, I think."

Sam smiles. "Too long," he says, setting the bottle of lube on Ryan's stomach before slipping his hand between his thighs, between his spread fingers, touching his open hole before drawing back. "Show me."

_Fuck!_ Now? Jesus. Ryan attempts to keep all these reactions to himself, although he suspects they probably show quite vividly on his face, given that he's got no fucking filters left at the moment -- given that Sam spent the past hour burning through them. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, swallowing hard in a throat gone dry. He picks up the bottle and carefully slicks his hand, paying special attention to his fingers, trying not to just make a mess all over himself. Again. Reaching down, he presses three fingers into his own ass with a hiss, arching a bit on the couch and working the muscle looser.

Sam knows he's pushing. Just as he knows Ryan thinks he can't take it. But he's wrong. Sam knows he can. Knows his boy has _at least_ another orgasm or two in him before he's done.

With his free hand Ryan cups his balls, holding his cock out of the way. He fucks himself open with three fingers, then stretches further, pushing all four fingers in, to the base of his thumb. And he holds there, attempting to catch his breath.

"That is so fucking hot," Sam says, eyes locked on Ryan's hand, on the skin stretched tight around it. "One of these days, I'm gonna open you with that speculum you bought and see just how much I can fit inside you."

Ryan whimpers loudly, and it's half a protest... and half desperate need. "Sir," he keens, tucking his thumb into his palm and beginning to penetrate his hole with the widest part of his hand. "Oh, fuck." He feels so fucking dizzy, so goddamn horny, and here's Sam talking like _that_... "Sir!" He arches violently against the sofa, his body sucking his own hand in to the wrist.

Sam's cock throbs and he groans. "Stay like that," he orders, dropping his hand to touch Ryan's wrist, trace the paper-thin skin around it.

_Stay???_ Ryan is awash on a sea of lust and pain. Hell, he _needs_ too much at this point - it's damn near consuming him - for him to move much anyway. Except for that instinctive hitch of his hips, which he just can't help...

"Look at you..." Sam murmurs. "One of these times, I'm going to put my fist in there too. Stretch you so fucking open..."

Now Ryan can't hold back the cry, gasping out a sob. Sam's wicked words seem to ignite every single nerve ending. "Please, Sir," he begs, blind, his focus drawn totally inward. Even he couldn't say right now whether he's begging for mercy... or for Sam to follow through on his sensual threat. "Please!"

"Not today," Sam says, circling Ryan's wrist one more time before cupping his boy's balls in his hand and squeezing lightly. "Today you're going to come for me, like this, and you're going to keep your hand inside your ass until you've come for me a second time."

Ryan arches against the couch, his hips bucking. He babbles a mindless mix of pleas and protests, but it's always this way with Sam: his body surrenders to the inevitable long before his brain is ready to accept. He's halfway through an insistent denial when he twists his arm, harshly raking his knuckles over his sweet spot. And he breaks into a howl, his orgasm crashing into him in an overwhelming instant.

_Fuck._ "Good boy," Sam breathes, working Ryan's balls through the last of the aftershocks. "One more." Like this anyway.

The words... they don't even make sense. Ryan whines and tries to wriggle away from Sam's touch, which of course does him no good when he's got his own damn self pinned. "S-- Sir," he gasps, but every time he moves it's just another lightning shock of sensation. "Sir!"

"Yeah?" Sam grins, unable to resist teasing his boy.

"N-- Can't..." Ryan grates out, his throat feeling like it's been rubbed raw with sandpaper. He squirms frantically, but every desperate twist of his hips just stimulates him even further with his fist buried as deep as it is. Tears well up in his eyes and begin to spill over, and Ryan attempts to focus on Sam's face. "Please."

"Yes, you can," Sam insists, his grin widening. He releases Ryan's balls, turning his attentions to his boy's cock, and the weight hanging from his piercing. "And you're going to," he says simply, slowly stroking his hand up and down the softening length before tugging hard on the weight.

Ryan yelps with shock and pain. He thrashes on the sofa, even as his cock impossibly begins to harden once more, so soon after his last orgasm that it feels excruciating. "Please, please," he begs, desperate, wholly locked in his body and entirely uninhibited. That teasing hand on his cock is driving him wild and he begins to rock on his fist, fucking himself hard in an effort to keep up with the hormones racing through him.

Sam shakes his head. "I already told you. Once more..." tugging that weight again, pulling it as far from Ryan's body as he dares. "Now fuck that hole, boy."

It's too much, too goddamn fucking intense, and Ryan howls. He's too full, too stimulated, so fucking raw. He thinks he's begging Sam for mercy, but he can't even be certain anymore -- his own voice is just meaningless noise in his ears. Muscles straining, he pounds his fist into himself as hard as he's able. And suddenly he's beyond the pale, colored lights flashing behind his eyelids as a searing climax burns up his body, more pain now than pleasure.

"Good boy," Sam says, instantly releasing his hold on the weight. He unclips it from the piercing and places his hand on Ryan's chest, petting him through the aftershocks while murmuring soft words of praise.

Ryan sobs like a child, completely disoriented, hurting without being able to grasp why. The rhythmic contractions of his muscles push his hand out of his body, and he immediately brings his sore arm to his chest, attempting to curl up into as small a knot as possible.

"Hey," Sam says softly. "It's okay," he reassures Ryan, even though he knows the words aren't getting through. It's the tone that does it. The warmth of his body. The throw that he pulls down from the back of the couch and wraps around his lover, pulling him in close. "I love you so much."

Turning his head, Ryan rubs his cheek against Sam's thigh. He wants to crawl inside his lover, the instinct to protect himself - late as it is - nearly overwhelming. But the row of black stitches marching up Sam's leg brings him up short. "Sir?"

Sam follows Ryan's gaze. "It's okay," he says again, smiling at his lover. "You took my mind off it."

Ryan stares at his lover, shock abruptly tearing through his haze. "But you, you didn't..." He forces himself to sit up, wobbly as he still is. "What can your boy do for you?" Fuck, he's supposed to be coddling Sam, not the other way around.

"He can lie back down and stay there until he's feeling better," Sam says bluntly.

Stung - still way too sensitive in far more ways than the physical - Ryan draws back. But then he hesitantly asks, "Will you come lie down with me? Please?"

Sam's not sure what he's said wrong. He just wanted Ryan to relax, stop worrying about him. Especially after what they just did. But obviously he's upset him. "Yeah, of course," he says softly, nodding. "We can watch this later," he adds, turning off the television.

"Okay. I..." Ryan reaches out for Sam but then abruptly pulls back. "I need to clean up," he mumbles, and shoves to his feet. "Do you need me to...? No, sorry, I'll just meet you there when you're ready." He can't handle another scolding, not now. He's struggling to come up from deep subspace too quickly, leaving him with the feeling that he can assign one part of his brain to logical discussion -- while meanwhile the rest of his brain is trying to drag him right back down into unconsciousness. _Not_ conducive to logic.

He heads into the guest bathroom and carefully scrubs up, not only his sore wet fist, but also the layers of come like strata rising on his skin. Then Ryan slowly crawls into the gigantic bed, immediately wrapping himself up in thick warm comforters and trying to huddle down.

It takes Sam a bit - especially since he's not willing to use that fucking geriatric cane - to make it to the bedroom but when he does Ryan's already in bed, the covers up over him, hunkered into his pillow. Sam sits on the edge of the bed and slowly undresses, wincing - _fuck!_ \- as he levers his leg into the bed and shifts closer to his lover. "You okay?" he murmurs, wrapping his arms around Ryan and pulling him in against his chest.

"Mmmm." Ryan burrows in, seeking the heat of Sam's body, the security of his lover's embrace. "Mm-hmm." Now he is.

"I love you so fucking much," Sam whispers, relief coursing through him.

"I love you," Ryan whispers back, smiling slightly. This is much easier: simply surrendering and letting himself be taken by the yawning blackness. He knows Sam will keep him safe.


End file.
